


hush of the battle-weary

by Etharei



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Muteness, Sign Language, Trauma, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 21:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etharei/pseuds/Etharei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sometimes he worries that he will never get the sounds of battle out of his ears.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	hush of the battle-weary

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3651.html?thread=7530307#t7530307) on The Hobbit kinkmeme:  
> Kili won't or can't talk after BOFA and no one can figure out why. While everyone else is trying to encourage him to talk, Bifur's happy to keep Kili in silent company and teach him some basic signs to communicate.  
> \+ also posted [on the kinkmeme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3651.html?thread=8200003#t8200003) (LJ)
> 
>  **Warning:** contains themes of war-related violence and psychological trauma
> 
> Many thanks to my beloved beta [xsilverdreamsx](http://archiveofourown.org/users/xsilverdreamsx/pseuds/xsilverdreamsx) ♥

Sometimes he worries that he will never get the sounds of battle out of his ears.

They follow him: the sharp clanging of swords as shovels shatter rock, the flight of endless arrows in the ropes slithering through their hooks, the roar of a charge in a dislodged boulder being rolled down a slope. Dwarves mine like they make war, or perhaps they think of war as just another mine; the battle-cries are indistinguishable.

Kili is tempted, more than once, to take a blade to his own ears. But Thorin and Fili worry enough as it is, and he has enough sense left to know that this torment resides elsewhere.

"Oin says that you're fit to go walking about, as long as you don’t overdo it," Fili is saying, occupied with the contents of the trunk at the foot of Kili's bed. They'd had to share one as children, Kili remembers; it had been a plain wooden affair, built by their father, not like this grand old heirloom of metal and jewels, which had come with the enormous room and the ancient bed and the noisome, trouble-ridden Mountain and all its unending clamor.

The entirety of Kili's worldly possessions barely fill up one corner of the trunk.

"Dwalin says you ought to avoid going into the mines, though," continues Fili, acting as if he neither wants nor expects a response from Kili. It is unusual for a room being occupied by the both of them to be so quiet; Fili is visibly discomfited by it, despite a lifetime of complaining about Kili's tireless prattle, and is clearly attempting to fill the void. "It's just for now. Everything is a mess down there, no one knows how much damage the dragon has inflicted on the foundations, and if something were to happen..." Fili shrugs awkwardly.

Kili nods, lips tightening. Neither of them need to point out the obvious: Kili wouldn't be able to shout for help.

Not that this would usually be a problem. The mines nurture a ceaseless rhythmic storm that ranges from picks chipping away at stone to enormous, many-armed mechanisms gouging whole tunnels into the rock, and it is not uncommon for a Dwarf to not be able to hear the voice of the Dwarf right next to them. It is why the hand signs had been devised. Kili suspects that someone who is not the nephew of the new King Under The Mountain would have been herded down below as soon as he was hale enough to carry a few tools.

His fingers fold and unfold in the broad shapes of iglishmêk - the sorry few that he remembers, anyway. _Outside. Go._

Fortunately, Fili has never needed much help to understand Kili. An uncertain expression crosses Fili's face, but he doesn't raise any objections. "To the thrush's door?" That is what they've taken to calling the secret door that they’d used to enter the Mountain while Smaug was in residence. The actual door had been heavily damaged by Smaug, but the ensuing rock-fall had created a new shelf that the Dwarves had cleared out enough for one or two to be able to sit by the Mountain-side. 

Fili's fingers are clumsier than Kili's, less used to delicate movements. Not that iglishmêk is particularly delicate, or so Kili has always thought.

 _Me. No deaf_ , Kili signs irritably, _Stop signing. No need._

Fili just gives him an exasperated look. "As if I've ever left you to do something on your own."

Kili ducks his head, breath stuttering. Finally, he gripes, _You butcher signs._

Fili chuckles. "No worse than you, or have you forgotten that we learnt it together? If it offends you so much, hurry up and speak, then."

Something heavy and ice-sharp drops into Kili's stomach. He's heading for the door before he's even aware of moving. There's a burst of footsteps behind him, and then Fili's hand is heavy on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," says Fili hurriedly, sounding panicked, "I didn't- I spoke without thinking."

 _Fine._ Kili doesn't know if Fili can even see his hands. But Fili wouldn't need to; Fili can read the tension in his shoulders and the cant of his head and the harshness of his breath. Fili knows every part of him, all his life. Fili knows his proudest moments and worst fears, knows to the second how long it takes for Kili's heart to forgive. _Fine_ , he repeats.

It dawns on Kili that this is the first time there is something about his younger brother that Fili doesn't entirely understand.

"No, it's not - can you look at me? Please?"

Kili turns around.

"I want to hear you talking again," Fili speaks-signs. His fingers tangle and confuse the forms, so rushed that Kili wouldn't have had a hope of following them, if he'd had nothing else to go on. "Of course I do. But only when you're ready. And if you never do - that's fine, too. I'll knock down anybody who gives you grief over it. You're my brother, and I'll take you any way you are. Do you believe me?"

Face warm, and a particular heat building behind his eyes, Kili nods. He gives Fili a reassuring slap on the arm, and then flees his room.

 

 

He has absolutely no desire for company, for the well-meant press of another person's concern and attempted cheer and, worst of all, the unsaid _words_ , buzzing thick in the air and out of reach for him. So he almost turns around when he sees someone's shadow on the pass. 

But then he recognizes the Dwarf's silhouette, and keeps on walking.

Bifur gives him a nod of greeting. Kili opens his mouth to ask, _may I join you_ , but the only thing that comes out is air. He clenches his fingers in frustration, even as his stomach roils and his heart pounds louder in his chest, like a battle-hammer swinging at bone-shields.

A gentle touch on his arm draws him back. Bifur pats the ground next to him invitingly. Kili nods his thanks and sits down.

They watch the landscape for a long while. Kili wonders if this is something Bifur does often, if he's intruding in a pocket of peace that the Dwarf has taken for himself. Bifur is wearing a miner's belt with the usual complement of tools stuck through various hoops and sturdy pouches. Kili has heard that everyone has been pitching in to repair the most important halls, regardless of rank or trade.

A sharp, sonorous noise rings out from somewhere - the Front Gate, most likely, where there is a promisingly steady stream of supplies coming in and the first batches of worked metal goods flowing out. Kili winces, shaking his head.

Bifur's hands fly through the air while his voice simultaneously grunts out the words in Khuzdul for: "People are noisy."

 _Yes,_ Kili signs in response. He hesitates. _Don't know-_ He tries to copy the sign that Bifur had just made. _Noise?_

Bifur does it again, slow enough for Kili to follow, and nods when Kili does it correctly. 

Then he tilts his head to one side, peering down with a critical expression. He gently pushes Kili's hands further apart. A tap to the elbow brings Kili's left arm up, and a hand on Kili's right shoulder adjusts the way Kili holds his right arm. It feels not unlike Kili's first lessons on the bow. Thorin had been much more exacting.

Bifur signs a word, this time without talking, and clearly expects Kili to imitate him.

Kili resists the urge to roll his eyes. _Kili._ He adds, _Know name_.

He receives a very unimpressed look. Bifur's hands chop out a phrase that Kili doesn't know, though he's fairly certain he sees the sign for _puppy_ somewhere in it.

 _Kili_ , repeats Bifur, _son of Dis, daughter of Thrain, son of Thror._

Kili signs the words, or tries to, but he's barely finished his own name when Bifur slaps at his hands.

_Slowly!_

The next hour is spent on Kili relearning his basic signs, with frequent corrections by Bifur. The Dwarf seems determined to improve Kili's execution and form, not satisfied with the bare minimum that Balin had let Kili get away with in his childhood lessons.

Eventually, Bifur motions that he needs to return to work. Kili nods, clasps his hands together for an overly exuberant _Thank you_. The distraction has left him feeling easier than he has in many days. Despite his earlier desire for some peace and space, Kili has never been one for total solitude, and the Dwarf's company had been exactly what he'd needed.

Bifur claps him on the shoulder. _You did well._ He wags a finger in Kili's face. _But you must practice!_

The Dwarf has never been the warmest of the Company - yet Kili thinks he can see something of jolly Bofur and generous Bombur in his eyes; that same good humor, tempered by many trials and all the more resilient for them.

Kili nods, surprising himself with his own willingness. It would be something to do, he thinks - and more than anybody's asked of him, of late.

 

 

In the days following that first lesson, Kili finds himself keeping company with Bifur more and more often. Fili blinks in surprise the first time he sees them wandering the main halls together. Bofur, on the other hand, looks as if he understands without any explanation needed, smiling and patting Kili warmly on the back. The lessons are always by the thrush’s door, however; it’s the quietest place on the Mountain that’s less than an hour’s walk, and they’re not likely to be disturbed.

 _I heard there was-_ Kili's hands falter, not knowing how to express "cave-in". _Cave fall?_

 _Good try, lad,_ Bifur gives him an approving nod, "but that one's for an underground landslide." Kili has gotten used to the way Bifur sometimes switches between iglishmêk and Khuzdul; he hardly notices it, now. The older Dwarf shows Kili the correct sign for _cave-in_ , and waits for Kili to copy it. 

_Fili was all covered in dust,_ Kili tells Bifur with a snort.

 _I saw him,_ Bifur replies, _He started pulling miners out the moment the alarm went up, and wouldn't leave until everyone was clear._

Kili looks down, jaw muscles tense. _He didn't tell me that._

Some of the helplessness screaming under his skin must show in his hands, or his face - or maybe Bifur simply knows. A callus-rough hand closes over Kili's. Bifur waits until Kili looks up before signing, _You gave us all a scare, lad. Both of you did. I don't blame Thorin for his over-attention. He cannot keep the both of you locked away, so you're taking your brother's share._

Kili had been one of the last Dwarves to be recovered from the battlefield. He might not have been found at all, at least not in time, had a Hobbit's keen eyes not spotted the tip of one boot sticking out beneath a veritable mountain of the enemy dead. 

"I don’t know if it’s such a great deed as all that, when so many have died fighting so valiantly,” a bewildered Bilbo had attempted to explain, in his first visit after Kili woke up, "not meaning, of course, that I’m not glad to have found you, Kili, for I count that to be an even greater contribution to this entire business than bandying a few words with a dragon. But if you must know, shoes are such peculiar things, to a Hobbit, and I couldn't help but take note of all of yours’ during the long journey. There's often not much else to look at, after all. When we were climbing or going up a steep hill, shoes were all I could see of the Dwarf in front of me; sometimes I got a closer look than I wanted. I've become very well acquainted with Bofur's back heels, for instance. Anyway, the moment I saw your boot, I knew it to be Dwarf-made, and when I freed it as far as I could, I recognized it to be yours."

A bird’s shadow passes by overhead. Kili looks up to see a Raven diving low and disappearing around the side of the Mountain; he wonders if it bears a message for Thorin, if Fili is at Thorin’s side, if Thorin will invite Fili’s counsel.

 _Your brother was nearly drained of blood,_ continues Bifur, His skin was death-pale, and his hair looked nearly as dark as yours, it was so thick with blood.

Kili breathes in sharply. His hands shake, even as he admits, _I didn't know. They told me that he was asleep for a long while, and wouldn't respond to anything._

It had taken weeks to get the stench of death out of his nose.

 _We couldn't find you._ Bifur punctuates the 'you' sign with a fierce stabbing motion. _Everyone assumed you dead. Many thought that Fili knew, somehow, and was only lingering awhile before following you to the Far Halls._

Bifur levels Kili with an intent, somber gaze. _Can you imagine, lad? Thorin waking up, grievously injured himself, to be told that he'd lost the both of you? Such grief - I had never seen the like of it, and never wish to see it again._

 _At least he got his Arkenstone back,_ snaps Kili, fingers moving too sharply for politeness.

 _Is that what you've heard? True, I grant it. Bard himself came to Thorin and returned the Arkenstone, as thanks for the food and supplies and a show of good will._ Bifur's face twists into an unsettled expression. _Thorin could barely look at it. He wouldn't even touch the jewel._

Kili blinks, surprised. _Then who took it?_

 _Mister Baggins, of course._ Bifur chuckles. _I’ve never seen anybody so unhappy to be handed the Heart of the Mountain._

The next day, Kili tentatively asks, _Do you remember much of it?_

 _The battle?_ When Kili nods, Bifur replies, _No, not much. When I fight, it is as if someone else is doing it. It's been like that since,_ Bifur flicks his eyes up at his own brow. _Bofur likes to say that the axe is the one doing the fighting. None of us thought I'd ever learn to fight, see._

_How did you get it, if I might ask?_

Bifur's smile is wry. _I didn't learn fast enough._ For a moment, his eyes turn distant. _That's why I don't like battles much. What happens after, I remember better._

They're quiet for a long moment, until Bifur says, hands gentle, _You remember it, then._

Kili remembers the first silence - for a second, for an hour, time shock-frozen - before the numbness receded and gave way to pain. He remembers the great weight on his chest, the inexorable downward push pinning him immobile; the agony of each breath, the struggle to draw lungful after lungful of fetid, death-drenched air; the scream that tore out of him when he could bear it no longer, and then finding himself unable to stop, sound after ragged sound spilling out until the world heaved around him. He’d thought, for a moment, that he’d been found, _Fili had heard him and Fili had come and Fili lived_ \- and then the crushing pressure grew _worse_ , and he managed one last full breath before thick fluid, blood and worse, gushed down into his eyes and nose and gaping mouth.

 _Yes,_ is the entirety of Kili’s reply.

The others still look painfully expectant when they encounter Kili, still appear disheartened when he gestures or signs instead of opening his mouth to reply to their questions. Thorin and Fili are still the hardest to disappoint. But the helpful suggestions and well-meant reassurances grow less. If the rest of the Company notice his growing proficiency with iglishmêk, they keep their thoughts on it to themselves. Kili finds himself being recruited by Balin to help with the inventory of weapons and mining tools, which somehow involves advanced lessons on penmanship, and then he’s practicing signing with Ori and teaching him some of the more obscure forms.

It’s Bilbo whom he’d have the most difficulty communicating with, or so Kili expects. But Bifur and Kili encounter Bilbo on their way to their usual Mountain-side refuge, with the Hobbit going the other way, and when Bilbo looks confused at Kili’s uncharacteristic recalcitrance, Bifur explains Kili’s worries in his usual manner - that is, in a language and hand-sign that the Hobbit could have no hope of understanding.

And yet, Bilbo doesn’t look confused at all. The Hobbit smiles warmly at Kili and says, “Well, I’ve gotten along well with Master Bifur so far; I expect you and I will be able to muddle along just fine.”

Later, over dinner, Thorin stares for a second too long when Bilbo signs _thank you_ to Kili for passing the bread. Then the King gives a short, sharp nod; if there are any objections from the more conservative Dwarves new-come to the Mountain, Kili doesn’t hear of them.

The most direct acknowledgement comes from Fili, who starts, fingers stumbling, _You lots better_ , and finishes in his voice, sheepish, “Won’t ever be as good as you, I’m afraid.”

 _That would only matter,_ replies Kili, _to them as can’t understand me without._ He looks his brother in the eye. _You and I - when have we ever needed words?_

The days are grown short, and the hour of that particular day grown quite late, when Kili kicks his legs out over the cliff and manages to ask, _Don’t you ever wish..._ , before his nerves fail him, though he keeps his fingers hanging in the air, signalling an open question.

Bifur reaches up and traces a finger over the axe-piece embedded in his head. _Sometimes,_ he admits, _A lot, in the beginning. But many Dwarves died the day I got this. A lot of Deep-songs ended, as my ma used to say. Mine should have, too, by all rights._ Bifur shrugs. _So what if I lost a few words?_ He gives Kili a meaningful look. _There are always other ways, lad. And you have a brother who will follow you anywhere - never forget that._

Their hands settle, letting the air grow quiet between them. From their familiar perch on the side of the Mountain, the two Dwarves watch the night draw its glittering cloak over the wide sky. At their backs, the Mountain continues bustling and vital, labored and loved and resoundingly alive once more.

**end**

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] hush of the battle-weary](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8911234) by [Etharei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etharei/pseuds/Etharei), [reena_jenkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reena_jenkins/pseuds/reena_jenkins)




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